Inquisitor Trevelyan
by veivar
Summary: A one-shot series based on Idris Trevelyan, a mage who escaped from the Ostwick Circle of Magi and sole survivor of the events at the Conclave. This series is not linear, but I will try my best to establish time by covering surrounding canonical events. There will be some canon divergence but nothing major. Some topics covered will be dark. Please enjoy, reviews are welcome.


It has been weeks since Idris was last at Skyhold, as she has been gallivanting with Bull, Dorian, and Cassandra all over the Hinterlands, performing favors here and there. Idris and the Commander have somewhat of a ritual every time she returns from a trip. She meets him in his office, chessboard in tow, no matter the time. They catch up and have dinner together. Sometimes they walk around Skyhold, paying homage to their walks around Haven. The trauma is still fresh for both of them. Afterwards, they both go their separate ways to attend to their duties and get some shut eye.

Ever since their first chess game, Dorian has been trying to force the two together, as was his flirtatious nature. However, she decides to take her time with things. They have an easy going friendship which has taken months to form... they haven't exactly gotten off on the right foot. Most Mages and Templars don't nowadays. She refuses to see their friendship fall to ruin over an impulsive decision. She chooses to focus more on the task at hand, letting other things come as they may. She is no longer a young girl, foolishly swept away by her emotions.

Idris taps on the door to Cullen's office politely and waits a moment. Usually she receives an excited, "Come in, come in!" The Commander always seems to know it's her, as his soldiers and Leliana's agents always seem to barge in unannounced. He always pairs his greetings with a friendly smile once she opens the door. Tonight, however, all she receives is silence.

"Commander?" Idris speaks through the door, always careful not to cross a line with a man who is always so guarded, knowing his sleeping quarters are also in his office. It is already well past dusk, perhaps he has finally stopped working for the day and is already asleep.

No response.

She opens the door to his office, a loud creak announcing her presence. Her intention is to put the chessboard and pieces on his desk so he can find her once he wakes. She will go in quick and right back out the way she came, making no disruptions. The Commander never seems to get enough sleep, and she will not rob him of it. Idris expects to see his office abandoned and dark, but finds something quite different.

"Go away!" A gruff voice barks at her upon entry.

Idris jumps in response to his shouting. She doesn't see the Commander anywhere, but she's heard him yell enough while training his soldiers to know it is him.

"I apologize... I did not mean to intrude," she says, yet, instead of leaving, she doesn't move.

No matter how frustrated he is, the Commander has never raised his voice to her specifically. Something must be wrong. Idris remains silent, pondering what she should do. She hears a choked-back sob come from behind his desk. Idris takes hesitant steps towards the desk to find him crumpled on the floor, clutching at his stomach. The Commander's face is as pale as the dead, his eyes are sunken in and blood shot. Tears stream down his face, his shoulders shake as he moans in pain. His tunic sticks to his sweaty skin. Cullen runs his hands up and down his thighs, squeezing at the fabric covering them until his knuckles turn white. A bucket sits next to him on the floor to his right, a wooden case to his left.

"Commander," Idris says, beginning to walk around the desk,"what hap-"

Cullen grabs the wooden box at his side and throws it in her direction, intending to hit her with it she is sure. Anything to get her to leave, even if it means shaming himself further in the process. The Inquisitor side steps it expertly, as if she would a knife or arrow. The wooden box crashes into the door behind her, immediately flinging its contents around the room and falling to the ground. Glass bottles filled with blue liquid clatter to the ground.

 _Oh._

"GET OUT." He screams his throat raw at her. "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE."

Cullen grips the bucket and retches into it, resting his head on his hands as he continues to sob. He hides his face from her, the embarrassment of her seeing him like this makes him cry more. Idris sets the chess set down onto the desk and approaches him carefully, as to not startle him.

"Cullen," she announces herself quietly, "I'm going to sit with you."

"Leave me be," he snaps back at her with his head still hanging over the bucket.

"No," Idris sits crosslegged in front of him, gently laying a hand on his arm. He flinches in response, but doesn't attempt to push her away.

"I won't leave you like this."

"I chose this-" He heaves into the bucket. Idris turns her head away for a moment, trying to avoid the smell wafting her way. "It's my fault."

She turns back to him. "How long?"

"Months," he coughs.

Idris touches his forehead with the back of her hand. His skin is sweaty and feverish to the touch.

"Why?" she whispers, "You could _die_..."

Cullen leans his head back against the wall and looks at her, hand still on his arm as she sits against his desk. She studies him intently, ice blue eyes focused on him.

"Kinloch Hold... Kirkwall-"

He groans when another round of sharp pains tear through his stomach. She remembers his account of what happened during one of their walks in Haven. She remembers how he could barely look her in the eye.

"I couldn't be connected to that life anymore."

Idris isn't touching his arm anymore. She's holding his hand gently, trying to soothe him somehow.

The Commander shivers and sighs, the pain relenting for a moment.

"You must think I'm foolish."

The Inquisitor looks at him, features serious. Does he see a tear in her eye? He isn't sure.

"No..." She clears her throat and squeezes his hand. "I'm... proud of you."

His lips tremble at her words, her sincerity. Relief washes over him, and some other emotion he isn't sure of yet. The Commander sets the bucket to the side and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. The tears keep flowing, so much that he doesn't try to hold them back anymore.

"Thank you," he says, "For not passing judgement on me."

"There is nothing to judge, Commander..." Idris says. "You've been by my side when I thought I had nothing to hope for. No one to lean on."

Cullen remembers when she recounted her escape from Ostwick, back when she was broken, before she was Inquisitor. She has grown so much from that time. They both have.

"I'm sorry... I lashed out at you."

Idris sees him start to disappear inside himself again. His eyes grow distant from hers. Unfocused. She squeezes his hand again to bring him back to her.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Cullen nods, sniffling the last of his tears. He squeezes her hand back just before she releases his. She stands swiftly, picking up the bucket of waste.

"I'll return shortly."

She disappears from the office for a few minutes and returns to find him dozing off right where she left him. Idris sets down the bucket of cold water, a set of towels, a drinking cup, and the blanket she brought with her.

"Hey," she whispers to him, kneeling down beside him on his right and setting her hand on his arm. He jerks out of sleep.

The Commander is relieved to see her face looming over his and not the clawing and hissing demons from his dreams. Idris dips the cup into the bucket, holding it out for him to take and drink from. He gulps the water gratefully as it burns down his dry throat. She dips one of the small towels into the bucket, withdrawing it, and hands him the wet cloth, sparing him the embarrassment of wiping his face for him. They are both fighters with an inflated sense of pride.

Cullen accepts the cloth from her with shaky hands, wiping his mouth clean. She leans against the wall next to him and shakes out the blanket she's brought, covering his body with it.

"We need to get your fever down..." she says, guiding his head to rest on her lap.

Being this close feels so natural to both of them, as if they do this every night. Idris dips another towel into the bucket, folds it, and presses the cool compress to his head. He sighs, leaning into the comfort she provides. Idris rests her head against the wall, one hand working the compress at the Commander's head, the other resting on his broad shoulder.

"Sleep," she says, closing her own eyes. "You're safe here."


End file.
